Psychotropic
by Sanguine Ink
Summary: After being given drugs at an insane asylum, the Doctor is very ill...and a smidge insane. Can Donna restore him to sanity before it's too late? Contains DoctorWhump and slight crack.


**Written mostly in Psychology class, inspired by a lecture on the history of therapy. Contains DoctorWhump, dash of TenRose, and a bit of crack. Also contains English, Spanish, Swahili, Chinese, and some Judoon and Sycoraxic I made up.**

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Running frantically in her heels, Donna threw open the doors to the London Psychiatric Hospital and leaned on the receptionist's desk for support, gasping.

"Do you have an app – " started the receptionist.

"There was a man brought in here an hour ago – a John Smith," said Donna, chest heaving from running all over the city.

"Yes, yes, that's right, Mr. Smith was brought in about an hour ago with severe hallucinations and mania."

"That's him!" said Donna, "I'm here to bail him out! He doesn't belong here!" She paused thoughtfully. "Well, yes he does, but not in _this_ particular psychiatric hospital in bloomin' 1957!"

"But it's 1956," stammered the receptionist, eying the ginger woman as if she too should be admitted.

Donna waved her hand dismissively. "1956, _whatever_. Just release the – Mr. Smith to me, will you?"

"I'm sorry," replied the receptionist haughtily, "But I can't do that without the proper paperwork."

"Oh! I have it, I have it right here!" After digging through her pockets for a brief moment, Donna produced the psychic paper.

"Oh….well it seems you can take him," said the receptionist, who didn't look as if she thought that was a good idea. Still, she dialed the number and called for the doctors to bring out the patient John Smith.

Two doctors emerged from the hallway, one on each side of the patient, who was wearing a straitjacket and an expression of giddy stupor.

"His things," said the doctor on the patient's left, handing Donna a bag containing, amongst other things, the sonic screwdriver. "Keep it away from him," the doctor advised, "It seems to be a trigger for his hallucinations."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," snapped Donna, "Get that straitjacket off him, will you?"

The Doctor blinked and beamed at Donna as the doctors removed his straitjacket. "Donna!" he said cheerfully, "Noble Donna Noble! Knew you'd come get me."

"Are you alright? Did they do anything to you?" asked Donna, her voice sharp.

The Doctor scrunched up his face. "Not good. Poked me with needles. Gave me silo…Geico…psycho…That's it, _psycho –_psychotropic drugs! Largactil, I think…"

"Well, that would explain the loopiness," said Donna in a huff, glaring at his doctors. She took the Doctor by the arm and led the cheekily waving alien from the hospital.

"Good-bye!" yelled the Doctor, still waving to the hospital doors, "Adieu! Auf Wiedersehen! Zai jian! Zbogom! Kwa heri! Ho-mo-to-so!"

Donna returned his sonic and tugged him down the street, "How long before the Largactil wears off, Doctor?"

The Doctor frowned. "Am I on Largactil? Oh, I must be…unless you really are now bluer than the TARDIS and hairier than a Chula and have a great giant mole right…" he pointed proudly at Donna's forehead, "There!"

Furiously, Donna prepared to smack him. "Oi, Martian-boy, you can't go hallucinating me with – "

"Donna," the Doctor suddenly interrupted, frowning again. "Did you say I'm on Largactil?"

"That's what _you_ said!" said Donna exasperatedly.

"Ooh, that's not good," he said, running a hand through his hair, "Psychotropic drugs don't mix well with my physiology…."

"Well, are you going to be okay?" asked Donna, suddenly worried.

"Now where's the TARDIS?" the Doctor ignored her question, a strange glazed look in his eyes. "Must find the TARDIS. TARDIS. TAAAARRRRRDIIIISSSS. Tardy TARDIS. Tardy, hardy, party…mardi! Mardi Gras! That's where we'll go next, Sarah, a Mardis Gras party!" He grinned idiotically.

"It's Donna," said Donna icily. She resisted the urge to take off one of her heels and beam him over the head with it.

"Shh!' hushed the Doctor indignantly, putting a finger to his lips, "Don't interrupt K9 when he's telling me where the TARDIS is."

"Kay what?"

"K9!" said the Doctor, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "My robot dog." Bending his knees to address the ground, he said, "Don't mind Barbara, K9, she's just upset I haven't taken her and Chesterfield back home yet. Now what were you saying?"

People were giving them strange looks as they passed by, flooding Donna with a sense of urgency. The Doctor couldn't afford to go back to the insane asylum if they were going to give him more of these drugs….She shuddered to think what he'd be like then.

The Time Lord nodded at the nonexistent robot dog and stood back up, looking enormously pleased with himself. "TARDIS is this way!" He stopped when he saw Donna's expression. "Donna, what are you looking at me like that for?"

"You – Spaceman – " she took a deep breath to collect herself, "How long before the drugs wear off?"

"What drugs?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Largactil!" she snapped impatiently, "The bloomin' drugs they gave you at that stupid mental institute. The ones that are making you act even more mad than usual!"

"They gave me drugs? Ooh, that's not good, Donna, I'll start hallucinating and become increasingly incoherent until my neurons shut down and implode."

Donna sighed. "No duh, Martian boy." Her eyes widened. "Wait, does that mean it's fatal?!"

The Doctor blinked. "What's fatal?"

Donna's eye twitched. "The largactil!"

"Oh, no, don't worry Donna, perfectly harmless, won't hurt you at all," said the Doctor cheerfully, "Just don't give _me_ any. It wouldn't be good. Very very bad."

"That's it, we're going to the TARDIS, _now_," Donna commanded, snatching the Doctor's hand again. Normally, his skin was cool to touch, but now his hand felt hot and sweaty and feverish.

They had only gone a few more steps down the street when the Doctor's eyes widened. He gazed around wildly. "Donna? Donna? DONNA!" he screamed frantically, yanking his arm out of Donna's grip. Whipping out his sonic screwdriver, he brandished it threateningly at the nearest lamppost. "Where's Donna? What have you done with her? Give Donna back, you _shlovkian kukitrek!_" He flicked the sonic on, causing the bulb at the top of the lamppost to explode. Shattered glass rained down on the street, causing the few onlookers nearby to run away screaming.

"Doctor, I'm right here!" yelled Donna, "DOCTOR!" Wishing she had left him in the straitjacket, she seized the sonic and wrenched it from his grasp.

"Donna!" the Doctor whirled around, relieved, "You're okay!" He enveloped her tightly in a hug. "Ha, take that! I found her!" he yelled defiantly back at the lamppost. He turned back to Donna, concern etched on his face. "We need to get back to the TARDIS. I think he poisoned me….my head hurts….ooh, my head…." His eyes rolled back into his head as he collapsed to the pavement.

"Doctor! Doctor!" yelled Donna in a panic, falling to her knees and shaking him.

In a split second, the Doctor went from out cold to springing right back up. Still grinning idiotically he took Donna's hand and lifted her to her feet.

"On to the Mardi Gras party, Sarah! We'll try the Mardi Gras of 2013 – that's when they invented Lom-Lom cookies, you know. Or was that 2031?" Donna yanked him along by the elbow as he struggled to remember. "2013…no, 2031…or maybe 2130?"

There were very few times when Donna had been happier to see the TARDIS looming ahead. Still pondering what year Lom-Lom cookies (whatever _those_ were) had been invented, the Doctor paid no attention to Donna's expression of pure horror as she opened the TARDIS doors.

The bigger-on-the-inside inside was gone.

"No," Donna whispered. She slammed the door shut and reopened it, waiting to see the console room. "No, no, nonononono…." Each 'no' was punctuated by a slam of the door.

Finally noticing Donna's distress, the Doctor laid a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She spun around, a crazed look in her eyes. "That's not the TARDIS," said the Doctor helpfully, "That's a police box."

"Of course!" Donna shrieked to the sky, "Of _course _you had to go mouthing off and mistaken for mad, only to be dragged to a madhouse and _becoming_ mad, only to leave me stranded in 1950s London where there's a bloomin' _police box on every corner_!"

Slightly alarmed, the Doctor took her hand. "K9 said the TARDIS was this way, Donna."

Donna's hand was mid-slap when she froze in shock. A thin trail of blood was dripping from the Time Lord's nose.

"Alright, Doctor," she said, trying to pull herself together, "We'll go this way."

"K9's never been wrong before…" he said, trailing off. "He thinks there's something wrong with me. Is there something wrong with me, Donna?"

"Nothing the TARDIS can't fix….I hope." Realizing he was semi-coherent, Donna jumped at the opportunity to get an answer out of him. "Doctor, what should I give you to make you better?"

"Put the lime in the Coke and then you shake it all up!" he sang cheerfully. "Put the lime in the Coke, and shake it all – "

"Doctor, DOCTOR! What do you do for a Time Lord who's been given largactil?" She saw another police box up ahead and hauled him towards it.

"Largactil for a Time Lord? Ooh, that's nasty stuff," murmured the Doctor thoughtfully, blood still trailing from his nose. "Stuff-puff-rough-duff-cuff-buff-muff. Muffins, mmm. Banana muffins…Do you want a banana muffin, Donna?"

"No, I do not want a stupid banana muffin! Focus, Doctor, the cure!"

"What was that? Oh, largactil! Time Lords have died from that, you know."

"So how do you cure them?" Donna asked desperately.

"I like to eat, eat, eat apples and bananas…." He sang again. His eyes slid out of focus as blood continued to drip from his nose, and his words slurred together. "I like foo beat…._manzanas _and _ndizii…_"

Much to Donna's relief, this police box _was _the TARDIS. She pulled the Doctor inside his ship, and he gazed around the console looking a bit like a lost little boy. Singing softly in who knew what language to himself, the Doctor followed Donna obediently all the way to the infirmary.

"Alright, Doctor, I've gotten you this far, but now you _have_ to tell me the cure."

The Doctor stopped his singing. "The cure for what, Rose?"

"The cure for largactil for Time Lords," Donna pleaded, "Please, Doctor."

"Two bromocriptine pills. What do you need to know that for?"

Donna ignored his question and ran to the medicine cabinets, yanking bottles off. "What color's the bottle, Doctor?"

"Ooh, pink and yellow, like Rose," said the Doctor dreamily. Donna seized the bottle and tried to remove the cap.

"Blasted child-proof lids…." Looking closer, Donna read that the lid was not child-proof, but rather "Macra-proof."

"Rose, I never told you…." The Doctor swayed slightly on the spot, woozy. "I love you Rose…"

"She loves you too, Doctor," said Donna softly. The lid finally popped off. She pressed two pills into the Doctor's hand. "Now swallow them!" she ordered briskly.

The Doctor swallowed them, blinked twice, and promptly collapsed into Donna's arms. Grumbling about "stupid heavy streak-of-nothing Time Lords," Donna hauled the unconscious Doctor onto a stretcher and tried to make him comfortable as possible.

She was going to kill him when he woke up.

* * *

Two hours later, the Doctor ambled back into the console room, humming merrily. Immediately, Donna dropped the magazine she'd been reading and rushed over to him.

"You're okay!" she said, relieved, giving him a quick squeeze. "You stupid Martian."

"Course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be okay?" said the Doctor, confused.

"But you – and the lamppost – and Mardi Gras – " Donna sputtered.

"Oh, _you_ have the sonic!" squealed the Doctor, plucking it from Donna's hand. "I wondered where that went."

Donna gawked at him, momentarily speechless.

"Are you alright? You look a bit frazzled…Here, I know!" He reached into his bottomless pockets. "Have a banana muffin. Full of potassium and pure goodness! Best baked good in the universe…except maybe Lom-Lom cookies. Have you had those yet, Donna? Donna?"

He held out the muffin. Donna's eye twitched, staring murderously at the proffered muffin.

Her slap echoed through the console room as loud as the cloister bell.


End file.
